The True Diary of Melanie Jane, AKA, Runaway Jane (by Crystal Collier)

What follows is the true diary of Melanie Jane, presumed run-away in May of 2012.

November 12

Dear Diary,

You will not believe what happened today. I was in the cafeteria and Cindy Hadlam was being herself—or should I say, she who-snubs-everyone because they’re-the-scum-on-the-bottom of her shoe. Today her three-year-old antics included throwing French fries at me. Seriously. French fries. Because she’d never eat something like that and ruin her prom-queen figure. I think deep down she’s jealous. I mean, who doesn’t want to eat pizza and marshmallows? You have to be crazy to pick salad over that.

Ignoring her (because that’s what you do with temper-tantruming toddlers), I got up to leave at the same instant a sophomore walked past my table.

Collision.

Chocolate milk spewed from its smashed carton like a garden fountain, pizza crust flew through the air like a trapeze monkey, and apple slices twirled like ballerinas onto the trays and tables around me. If I wasn’t humiliated by how much of it stained my flannel button-up, I might have calculated the likelihood of making the accident happen again, but aimed at Cindy’s table.

Wanting to book it out of there, I remembered Gran’s words: “When life gives you lemons…”

I took a bow, dropped my empty tray on the table, and walked straight for the exit, chin held high. A couple kids applauded. Most laughed, but that’s not the amazing part.

Todd Waters.

Source

He stood in the doorway, him and those dreamy green eyes. He gave me a salute as if to say, “One solider to another, way to take a blow.” The best part, he was actually looking at me.

Yes, I’m talking about untouchable Todd—the guy who could be the head of the basketball team, the quarterback, and the student body president all in one—except he sticks to his books, quiet corners, and lets the entire female populace drool.

Granted, he might have been looking at the milk dribbling down my shirt, but staying positive here…

So all in all, not a bad day. Lesson learned? Be confident—even in bad situations.

December 12

Dear Diary,

I saw Todd in the office today while bringing in a teacher’s note. He was wearing an army jacket and his khaki pants were crinkled, but he was still as hot as lava. He pounded a fist on the receptionist’s desk, dark hair hanging shaggy in his eyes and his teeth bared.

I didn’t think Todd got angry. In fact, I don’t think anyone has ever seen him do more than crack a smile, but tension wafted off him like gas fumes. (Not that he could ever smell bad in any way. Gas fumes can be pleasant, you know?)

Anyhow, so he whirled around and stomped toward me. I thought about moving out of the doorway, but I didn’t. Todd stopped right in front of me. He reached around me for the door handle, then, like coming out of a trance, he blinked twice and stopped, looking right into my eyes.

I want to say my knees didn’t go shaky, but they did. He smelled like a sea breeze. I felt dazed and a little dizzy—because that’s what happens when you stare into a gorgeous guy’s eyes—and then he touched me. Physical contact.

He put his hand on my arm and gently shifted me away from the door.

I dropped my note at the desk and hurried after him. He was halfway out the front doors when I caught up and asked, “Todd, are you okay?”

“Just a really bad day.” He turned away like he was going to leave, then glanced back over his shoulder and asked, “Wanna go for a ride?”

Source

Did I? DUH!

We hopped in his car and drove for the beach. And we talked. He said his parents wanted him to come home, permanently, and he’s not ready for that. He likes living in John’s Island. He wouldn’t say where home is or who he lives with now—some kind of relative—but he took off because his parents were putting way too much pressure on him. I told him about my cousin Lindsey whose parents expect her to be perfect, and how she ended up in therapy with a nervous twitch when she got her first B. Talk about pressure! I told him to be brave and stand up for what’s important to him. I hope he’ll get to stay. After that we talked and talked, and he even smiled a couple times. It was a good day.

Lesson learned? Take time for people. You never know how much you’re needed.

January 1

Dear Dairy,

Reason to celebrate today. Todd gets to stay! His parents agreed. Isn’t that awesome? He called to thank me for encouraging him to fight. I’m so glad.

Lesson learned? Doing a good thing gets you a call back!

February 22

Dear Diary,

Things are a blur since Todd and I became friends, but I had to write today. Todd and I talk all the time. He probably knows me better than anyone, but it’s hard to get him to talk about himself. I think he’s having a hard time with anything related to home or his parents. I don’t blame him. They’re still putting pressure on him. When he needs a break from them, he calls me and we take a drive to the beach. I love the beach. The sunsets are amazing, and chatting with Todd? Well, it doesn’t get better than that. He’s like my best friend. And maybe something more.

But that’s not why I had to write! Todd asked me to Prom. Me! Can you believe that?

  

Lesson learned? Patience always pays out.

March 5

Dear Diary,

Prom was epic. Todd looked totally amazing in his tux, and he took me to the beach afterwards. Just the two of us.

He asked if I’d ever thought about running away from home. I told him I thought about leaving all the time, but not like abandoning my family. I’m a Junior. One more year and I’ll be out on my own, going to Berkley, rooming with a stranger, and living it up. He graduates in a month. When I asked what he’s planning, he shrugged and said he’d probably go into the family business.

And no, I don’t know what the family business is.

Source

But that’s not the amazing part. He kissed me. K-I-S-S-E-D ME! And it was amazing—the epitome of every girl’s dream kiss. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him.

Especially since he asked me to be his girlfriend. (Because the kiss wasn’t awesome enough.)

Oh, and he asked if I wanted to meet his parents. HIS PARENTS! I don’t know how we got so serious all of a sudden, but I told him yes (to both), and he said he’d arrange the meeting. This is crazy!

Todd Waters is my boyfriend!

Lesson learned? Anything is possible.

May 23

Dear Diary,

I’m a little angry. Okay, a lot angry. I shouldn’t even have this stupid diary right now!

Todd took me to meet his parents alright. On the beach. He had a basket full of stuff that I assumed was a picnic. Never assume things. He seemed really nervous, which completely makes sense, but I figured he was worried that I wouldn’t get along with Mommy and Daddy.

He dragged me out to this sandbar and started wading into the water.

For a minute I thought he was totally crazy. He reached for me and said, “Come on, this way.” And then he smiled a winning smile that could make any girl melt. So I took his hand.

Worst. Mistake. Ever!

He pulled me into the water and it instantly swallowed me. Like a giant mouth—but not quite as stinky, and without teeth. Oh, and I could breathe. It’s like a bubble formed around us as we sank down into the depths of the ocean until everything around us was black. Pitch black.

“Melanie,” Todd whispered, “meet my parents.”

And I did. His mom’s a freakin’ nixie! Water spirit. Yeah, and she trapped his dad under water ages ago, and the poor guy is really pale and sickly, but she doesn’t care because she got the son she wanted out of him.

So the basket Todd packed? Yeah, it had my journal, an old T-shirt I usually sleep in, and my brush—all things he STOLE out of my room. And now I’m supposed to become his wife or some junk like that. And have his baby.

Oh and FYI, there is no cell coverage at the bottom of the ocean, even though Todd is nice enough to recharge my cell once a week when he goes up for sunshine.  

Jerk.

 

Source

So this is pretty much it. My life sucks. I’m prisoner to a mythical creature. I’ll never go to college or see the sun again or tell my parents I didn’t run away (like the note Todd left suggested). I officially hate the ocean. And nixies. Why couldn't Todd have smiled at Cindy that day in the cafeteria?

Lesson learned? Never trust a cute guy. Not that I’ll get the chance ever again…unless I can figure out how to sneak out of here. Todd’s dad hasn’t figured a way out and he’s been searching for decades. Maybe we’ll succeed someday together, but if we do, I will not be taking this embarrassing monologue of gushing blather.

That’s it. All she wrote. The end.

Diary recovered on Pockoy Island beach, South Carolina, May 5th, 2015. No record of Todd Waters exists in school or county records. Due to the dubious nature of this account, it is inadmissible as evidence of abduction. 

Crystal Collier is a young adult author who pens everything from dark fantasy, historical, and romance tales, to inspirational stories. She has lived from coast to coast and now calls Florida home with her creative husband, four littles, and “friend” (a.k.a. the zombie locked in her closet). Secretly, she dreams of world domination and a bottomless supply of cheese.

Check out her published works for more amazing reads.

Let's Talk About the Unbelievable

I lived in Southern California. Flew to Maui for vacation. Traveled by schooner to the island of Molokai. (Through the worst trade winds in years and I get seasick on a rolling chair. Ugh. Anyway…) Rode in a Jeep up to the top of the mountain to visit a macadamia nut farm. During the presentation on how they grow and harvest the nuts I heard a couple people talking with heavy Mid-western accents. I asked, “Are you from Wisconsin?” They replied, “Yes. Brown Deer.”

I grew up in Brown Deer. The population of Brown Deer when I moved away in 1980 was 12,582 – it pretty much still is. It completely floored me that I was standing on top of a mountain on the island of Molokai talking to people from Brown Deer. What are the odds of that?

My husband traveled from our home in Oregon to Baltimore for work. A friend of ours, who lives in Southern California was in Washington DC on a business trip, but had to attend an event in Baltimore that night. They both checked in on Facebook and saw they were in the same town and made arrangements to stop and visit over a quick cup of coffee.

Those kinds of coincidences are unbelievable to me. Everything that had to line up so they were even discovered is pretty unbelievable.

What sort of events, coincidences, or happenstance have you been involved in or witnessed that left you gaping in wonder? Don't forget that each comment on our posts this month enters you into the drawing for a gift card. Click on the May Giveaway link above for details, but really, it's simple...leave a comment! 

Portents and Omens by Mary Waibel

Will the untimely arrival of four meteorites herald the end of the world?

***

Portents and omens.

The words swirled, a quiet whisper that teased the edges of her slumbering brain. Cassie moaned in her sleep and shifted restlessly under the sheets. A void, darker than the deepest of night, filled her vision. In the distance, pinpricks of light flickered, only to be consumed by the utter blackness surrounding her.

The words sounded again, louder this time, as if shouted in anger. Fear traced an icy finger down her spine and she jerked awake, her pounding heart and the rasps of her breath the only sounds in the silent room.

Pale beams of moonlight filtered through the window and onto the antique quilt draped across her queen sized bed. A light breeze fluttered the curtains, bringing with it the musky scent of fall. Shadows danced across the walls, looming and shrinking, the non-rhythmic pattern setting her nerves on high alert.

The digital clock on her nightstand flashed from four nineteen to four twenty, and Cassie sighed, knowing sleep would never return. She tossed the bedding aside and padded barefoot to the sliding glass door separating her bedroom from her third floor balcony.

With a flick of her wrist she released the lock and pushed the door open. The hiss as it slid on the track sounded loud in the predawn silence. She tiptoed across the chilly wood planks, her breath streaming into a white cloud that drifted through the frosty air.

Goosebumps covered her arms and legs reminding her it would soon be time to pull out warmer sleepwear, rather than the t-shirts and shorts she'd worn all summer. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she considered going back inside and grabbing her robe, but the sight of the night sky pulled all thoughts of cold away.

Myriads of stars and planets glittered and twinkled above, more than she had ever seen while star gazing in the middle of the desert. The light pollution from town should have obscured the skies, but tonight it seemed that every heavenly body was on display for all to see. Maybe she’d get lucky and catch some of the Perseid meteor shower. After all, every sky watcher knew that this was the best time of night to see them.

Cassie scanned the sky, quickly finding the familiar constellation of Cassiopeia. Thinking of the star chart she’d studied in school, she slid her gaze down to Perseus, knowing the meteors would originate from here. Her heart thundered in her ears as she stared at the cluster of stars. Algol, the Demon Star, flickered and flared, its brilliance brighter than usual.

An omen.

Her mind flooded with the knowledge of her studies of ancient religions. Algol heralded bloody violence and death. Histories of multiple cultures traced violent uprisings back to this star. Even Ptolemy had referred to it as “the Gorgon of Perseus”, linking the star with death by decapitation. This star was a very bad omen.

While she stared at Algol, four streaks of light flared and blazed across the heavens. Cassie followed them as they sped across the sky, growing larger and brighter. She frowned. This wasn’t the time for an earth grazer. They were only supposed to occur in the early to mid evening. But these meteors were definitely coming through the earth’s atmosphere.

The meteors grew brighter, their trails leaving a brilliant fire in the sky as they plummeted toward the ground, disappearing on the horizon. A wave of light surged toward her, passing by in the blink of an eye, leaving behind the scent of pine and fresh turned dirt. Something had hit nearby.

Cassie braced for the shock wave, certain these meteors had impacted the earth, but nothing came.

Hurry. Hurry.

The thought pounded in time with her accelerating heartbeat. Acting on pure impulse, Cassie raced inside, slid on her well-worn flip flops, and scooped her keys up from the counter. Almost running now, she headed out the door and started down the stairs. She’d gone two steps before she stopped and ran back to her apartment.

Hands shaking, she jabbed her key at the door knob. After three attempts, she managed to steady enough to insert the key and lock her door. Her home secured, she flew down the stairs and hopped into her car.

The town was eerily silent and unusually dark, even for the early morning hour. The streetlights were out and no lights shone in the buildings she passed as she followed the sensation urging her to head for the hills on the outskirts of town.

Her headlights cut a path through the darkness as she sped through the empty streets of downtown Augury. The three and four story buildings that huddled on top of each other gradually gave way to houses with small strips of grass between them. Further out, large yards and picket fences hid larger homes from view. Eventually, yards morphed into fields as Cassie neared the town’s outer limits.

A hundred feet before the town line, she slowed and turned off onto a dirt lane. Her car’s engine whined as she followed the twists and turns of the bumpy road. Sweat dampened her hands, and her breath came in heavy pants as the car climbed higher into the hills.

Hurry. Hurry.

A couple of miles later, the headlights glinted off of something in the road ahead. Cassie eased her car to a stop in front of a massive iron gate. The beams of her headlights lit up tall trees that loomed along both sides of the secured driveway. At the farthest edge of the pool of light, she could just barely make out the outline of a large mansion.

More trees towered to the sides of the gates, as if shielding the property from the eyes of the world. She shivered and gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white as she fought against the strange desire to leave the safety of her car and head into the woods beyond the gate.

Unable to resist, Cassie exited her car and studied the fence blocking her way. It was a classic iron fence, with two inch diameter bars spaced six inches apart and standing seven feet tall. They were too narrowly spaced to slip between and too tall to climb over. She would have to find another way to the woods beyond.

The scent of pine was strong here, like it had been on her porch after the wave of light. Twigs cracked and leaves rustled underfoot as she picked her way down the fence line. With each step the pull toward the woods increased.

I need you. Hurry.

She stared into the darkness beyond the fence searching for…something, but what she didn’t quite know. A light flickered and her heart fluttered in response. Heedless of the dangers, Cassie sprinted forward until she reached the source of the light.

A body-sized rock jutted from the ground on the other side of the fence, as if it were a javelin thrown from the skies by a giant. Bright white light pulsed from within, steady, like a heartbeat. As she studied the rock, a fissure appeared, growing longer and wider, until rays light speared through.

Cassie squeezed her eyes tight and turned away, but the brilliance still filtered behind her lids. She stumbled away, searching for shelter from the blinding light. Branches scratched her cheeks and rough bark scraped her shoulders as she bounced off of saplings and small tree trunks. A shadow danced over her field of vision, and she moved toward it until blessed darkness surrounded her.

Sweat beaded on her skin as the cool morning air turned sweltering. It felt like she was at the beach during the hottest part of a summer day, with no breeze to cool the blistering heat. She pressed against the tree trunk, praying for relief. Just when she thought she’d pass out, the light vanished and the air cooled until she shivered.

Cassie opened her eyes and blinked until the spots cleared. Rays of sunlight flickered through the canopy of the trees, softly illuminating her surroundings. Overhead, leaves of vibrant red and orange fluttered, making the woods appear to be on fire. She turned and peered around the tree trunk, her breath catching as she stared at the vision before her. There, beyond the fence, stood a man. A naked man.

Messy waves of dark brown hair brushed the tops of his broad shoulders and framed his strong jaw. His nose was slightly crooked, as if it had been broken at some time. He had full lips and light stubble covered his chin and cheeks. But it was his body that drew her attention.

Scars covered every inch of skin below his neck. Long, jagged white lines. Red pock-marked circles. Faint white dashes. Not one inch of skin was left unmarred. Beneath the marks it was easy to see that his body was pure muscle. Like a body builder’s. Raw power emanated from him, and Cassie wondered how someone with such power came to be so damaged.

He clenched his fist and his muscles bunched, drawing her gaze to his left bicep. A silver crown tattoo glittered against his tanned skin.

Mine.

Cassie jerked back as the word blared in her mind. Panicked, her gaze skittered to his face. Dark blue eyes glared down at her, pinning her in place. Her legs trembled as he swept his gaze over her, his eyes lingering on her chest and hips. Heat crept up her neck at his blatant appraisal.

“Wh-who are you?” Her question came out breathy and quiet, and she feared he hadn’t heard her.

The man lifted a brow, and a second later a cruel smile inched across his full lips. “I am the beginning of the end.”

***

Ever since seeing the teaser for X-Men Apocalypse at the end of X-Men Days of Future Past, I've been toying with an idea for a serial based on the four riders of the Apocalypse, and this is where I've gotten with it. I hope you enjoyed and are interested in learning more about Cassie and this man.

Twisting tales one story at a time. 

YA author Mary Waibel’s love for fairytales and happy-ever fill the pages of her works. Whether penning stories in a medieval setting or a modern day school, magic and romance weave their way inside every tale. Strong female characters use both brain and brawn to save the day and win the heart of their men. Mary enjoys connecting with her readers through her website: marywaibel.blogspot.com

***

An Unusual Friendship

Adam sat up, startled, then slumped back into the cushions, recognizing the squeak of the pet door. Only Pip, though even his company would be better than the lonely hour he'd just spent in the empty house.

He rubbed at his eyes, embarrassed by his tears when the sleek creature sauntered into the room. Yes, sauntered. Only way to describe it. Pip sauntered, strolled, strutted, behaved like he owned the world. He never simply walked anywhere.

They stared at each other and Adam sniffed, "What, you've never seen a man cry before?"

Solemn gray eyes blinked at him and Adam ducked his head, his eyes filling again as the ache in his heart spilled over. The couch dipped and Pip's head rubbed against his thigh. Adam reached over and lifted the beautiful animal onto his lap. "At least I have you to love me," he whispered and began to stroke his soft gray fur, letting the repetitive motion sooth his frayed nerves.

Pip's rumbling purr became hypnotic, easing the pain tightening his chest.

"That's that," he sighed, wondering how long a broken heart took to mend. A gentle nip on his fingers dragged him from self-pity. "Hungry?" he asked. Pip rose and stretched, tail brushing under Adam's nose, making him laugh.

"Brat." He raised a brow when the cat didn't budge. "Well, are you going to get down?"

Pip glanced away, yawned, then jumped to the floor as if it were his idea. Adam shook his head as he crossed the room to the kitchen. The thought of food nauseated him, so he opened a tin for Pip, then went to the bedroom and dropped onto his stomach, clutching the pillows over his head. The bed felt huge without Ken in it, and he rolled into a ball, pulling the pillow to his chest. God, he longed for sleep.

*  *  *

Pip stretched, careful not to wake the man sleeping next to him. It took hours and lots of tears before Adam had closed his exhausted eyes. Moving slowly, he arched his back and shifted into his human form. Adam had never seen him like this, hadn't a clue his pet was actually a man. Pip smirked and ran a hand down his lean chest. A very sexy one at that.

Adam sighed in his sleep and Pip rolled toward him, leaned on his elbow to look at the guy in the faint glow from the digital clock on the bedside table. What he wouldn't give to pull him into his arms, kiss the hurt from his heart. He tenderly brushed the strands of Adam's dark hair off his forehead, bent and kissed his closed eyes and tasted his tears.  

Pip smiled fondly in the darkness. Adam had found him in an alley last summer, the worst for an encounter with a vicious Tom. He'd carried him in his arms, so gently! Nursed him, fed him a bowl of milk, given him a home. Pip had only meant to stay a few days, but Adam had been so sweet to him. The days had turned into weeks then months. Even after Ken had moved in, Adam would still find time for him, stroking his fur while they listened to music or watched a movie together on the couch.

Pip blinked at a sting of tears. Maybe it was time for him to go. Find a new home with someone who didn't stir passions in him he couldn't control and the longing for something he could never have.

"I don't believe this. Who are you?"

He jerked his head up and met Adam's wide gaze. The guy's chest rose and fell with his quick breaths, but Pip didn't sense any fear, only wonder. How to explain?

Adam deserved the truth. "I'm Pip."

A smile curled Adam's perfect lips. "I hoped it was you."

"What about Ken?"

Pain swept Adam's face. "I was lonely and thought that was love."

Pip cupped his face, looked deep into his eyes. "No, this is love, if you can accept me."

Adam nodded. "I've dreamed of you long enough." Adam brushed his lips over Pip's, teasing. "I want the reality of you."

Artwork by Marcel Stevahn -One Good EyePhotography

Dianne is the author of paranormal/suspense, fantasy adventure, m/m romance, and anything else that comes to mind. Oh, and a floral designer. Which is the perfect job for her. When no writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage. 

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Tales from the Field: Haley’s Unbelievable Save by Katie L. Carroll

In matters of life and death, it’s hard to believe that sports matter.

“Haley, pay attention!” Megan, the team captain, shouts. The sound echoes in the small utility room the Central High women’s soccer team uses for our meetings. “It’s important you know where to be when we’re defending a corner kick.”

I try to—really I do—but the X’s and O’s blur on the whiteboard as unshed tears hang in the corner of my eyes. The thought comes, the one I’ve had over and over since my mom died last winter: Why do I bother playing? Sports seem so…unimportant, trivial, pointless. Shouldn’t I be doing something more worthwhile with my precious time on Earth?

When I told my dad I was considering not going out for soccer this year, my senior year, he gave me the old “That’s not what your mother would have wanted” speech. So I tried out and made varsity again.

For the most part, I manage to put aside my ambivalence and give my all during the games, but practices and meetings are tougher. At least no one’s complained about my performance, and I’m leading the team in assists, so there’s that. But that’s just it: I don’t really care if we win or lose.

It’s my commitment to the team that’s gotten me through the season so far…and my dad. He shows up for every game, cheering and smiling from the sidelines. It’s one of the only times I see him smile.

I heave a sigh and rest my head on my hand. Megan’s pre-game strategy session drags on, her voice and the tick of the clock not enough to keep thoughts of my mother at bay. How I would visit her in the hospital when she was in for chemotherapy, reading to her until she fell asleep. The silence in the room when the doctor said the cancer was terminal and recommended stopping treatment. The feel of her limp hand in mine when she took her last breaths. At least she was home with me and my father when she died, like she had wanted.

I look around and no one else seems to notice how warm the room has become. Brooke and Sadie both sit upright, raptly paying attention to Megan. Denise picks her nails and exchanges a look of boredom with Mac, both of them probably figuring they can get away with not paying attention because they’re seniors.

And I’m remembering my mom, not the pink hue of her cheeks when she would come back in from her early morning runs. Nope, all I can picture is the sallow, sunken look of her face right before she died. My chest tightens and it’s hard to breathe, like my insides are filling with molten lead. It’s like this at school, too. I can’t focus in class and my grades have slipped, but the teachers are all cutting me some slack, given my “situation.”

The meeting ends and we head to the locker rooms to change into our uniforms. As I lace up my cleats, I try to force the heaviness from my chest. Pretty soon the noise of the game will drown out my sorrow and I’ll be able to focus on playing.

Once warm-ups are done, I take my place at center midfield and wait for the whistle to blow. I catch my dad’s eye and wave. A wide grin spreads across his face and he waves at me with one hand. His other holds a mini school flag, which is red with a white bulldog on it.

“Go dogs!” he shouts. I can’t help but smile back. His enthusiasm is catching and helps me focus on the game.

The tough match demands all of my attention. The bliss of being lost in the moment overtakes me. We’re locked up 0-0 at half, neither team able to put one into the net. The second half is just as brutal as the first.

Megan is a tornado on the field, screaming directions to the team and doing some of the best defending of her life. Olivia, the goalie, makes a spectacular save to keep the game scoreless. By the 85^th minutes, my body is heavy, but not because of grief; it’s simply the fatigue of a hard fought game.

One of the opposing team’s forwards bends a nasty shot toward Olivia, who just manages to swat it away. The ball bounces off Denise on defense and out of bounds. It’s a corner kick for the other team.

Megan screams, “Remember your positions!”

My heart drops as I think about the strategy session…and my mom. I try to push those thoughts away, but my vision blurs. The aching heaviness of mourning compounds the fatigue of playing. I have no idea where I’m supposed to be, so I stand next to a random opponent and hope the ball doesn’t come my way.

The ball thumps across the field from the corner and soars into the box in front of the goal. I can barely see it though my tears. The player I’m supposed to be covering is several feet away, and I’m dumbly standing on the goal line. She volleys it right for the net. Olivia is too far right to make the save.

Of its own accord, my body dives feet first to the left. I have no recollection of doing it myself, like someone else has taken over my faculties. The ball hits my shin and bounces away before being cleared by Megan.

The referee blows three long toots on the whistle, signaling the end of the game. My teammates crowd around me, while I remain on the ground, stunned over what has just happened. They help me stand and despite the fatigue, a lightness has taken over my body.

Megan squeals in delight, “We’re still undefeated!” Mac, Denise, and Olivia surround me. Brooke pats me on the back and says, “Nice save, Haley.”

I glance into the stands. My dad is hugging the other parents. Then he’s bounding down the stairs and onto the field. He rushes over and wraps me in a hug.

“I think mom was watching,” he whispers into my ear. “She would be so proud.”

I nod into his shoulder and burst into tears. I don’t stay it to my dad, but I think my mom was more than watching. As unbelievable as sounds, I think she helped me make that save.

I watch my dad cheer and celebrate with my teammates and realize that although sports may not cure cancer or stop wars, they are healing in their own way. Like a good book or movie, they let us forget our troubles for a little while and revel in the moment. I guess my mom wanted to remind me of that.

For the first time in a long time, I consider the idea of playing in college…as long as it doesn’t interfere with my studies to become a doctor.

***

Want more from the young women on the Central High School varsity team? Check out these other Tales from the Field: "Captain Megan", "Addison in Love?", and "Lucky Brooke".

Katie L. Carroll is a mother, writer, editor, and soccer player. She began writing at a very sad time in her life after her 16-year-old sister, Kylene, unexpectedly passed away. Since then writing has taken her to many wonderful places, real and imagined. She wrote her YA fantasy ELIXIR BOUND so Kylene could live on in the pages of a book. Katie is also the author of the picture app THE BEDTIME KNIGHT and a contributor to THE GREAT CT CAPER, a serialized mystery for young readers. She lives not too far from the beach in a small Connecticut city with her husband and sons. For more about Katie, visit her website at www.katielcarroll.com.

The Probability of the Impossible by Meradeth Houston #FlashFiction

Be sure to leave a comment to enter this months' giveaway for a $10 gift card! :)

Not all super powers are gifts.

***

Source

The world is flat. The sun orbits the earth. Lead can be turned into gold. Continents don’t move. People can’t read each other’s thoughts.

Or so people used to think.

Not that anyone understood was my great, great, great, great (I’ve lost track—there’s supposed to be eight [or ten?] great’s) uncle Leonard could do. He just seemed to have a good sense of intuition with those he was close to.

And he and his wife had a ton of kids. Ten or something like that. And their kids who also had a bunch of kids? They were the ones who were like their dad.

The real surprise happened when two third cousins met and got married. They hadn’t even realized they were related (I mean, think about it—do you know your third cousins?). Their kids were the first ones where people took notice. When the scientists stepped in. The government.

None of us have really been free since then. Not until two years ago when I broke out with the rest of the group.

I gripped the steering wheel with my gloved hands. The leather squeaked under the pressure. It was the only clue to anyone paying attention. I hated any accidental touch with a stranger.

Hate’s a funny thing though. The scientists back at the lab told me the original mutation had been some random fluke. That was how it always worked—an accident in their DNA. An accident that allowed them to hold us all hostage. To breed us like cattle. To force us to work for them. Nothing compared to the hate I felt for them.

I took a deep breath. Thinking about that too much left me with a raging headache, and tonight I had to keep my focus. I was on a supply run (first time I’d been allowed back in public). We needed things and I had to get out and get back without anyone tracking me, or guessing who I was.

Not that most of the public knew about us. Sure, a couple of generations ago there had been news stories. Wild claims about what we could do, strange comparisons to those impossible mutations that people glorified in comic books. Reality was so much less fun.

The store was still lit, just twenty minutes until closing. Just as I’d timed it. I parked next to a lifted truck with a bumper stick proclaiming that the driver hunted wolves. I resisted the urge to take my key to it.

I had to peel off my gloves when I walked through the sliding doors. It was a little too warm for that to be normal.

The list in my pocket, on a crumpled piece of paper, had twenty items on it. That allowed me to take the express lane, and anything more might tip someone off that I was up to something.

Canned goods first. Mostly veggies, and a few fresh things as well. My mouth watered at the thought of a baked potato loaded with everything on it. How long since I’d had something that filling?

Too long. But it was worth it. Better than being a lab rat.

The medicine aisle gave me some trouble. I had to walk through it several times until I found the right stuff. The cold medicine would be invaluable at the compound, if only because it stunted our abilities. In a community of mind-readers, that meant peace unlike most of us could hope for.

I threw in chapstick before I could stop myself. My lips cracked and bled every day or two and I couldn’t handle it any longer.

Finally, I walked to the front. This was the hardest part. I could load my cart without ever having to speak with someone, but this store didn’t have self-checkout lanes. Which was why I’d been the one sent here. It had things we needed the other stores didn’t, but there were so many risks.

My cart had a wobbly wheel that listed to the right and squeaked as I walked to the front. Five minutes until closing.

The woman behind the conveyor belt read a magazine and glanced at her watch as I approached. Unloading my cart, she began ringing up my items as the register let out muted beeps.

I managed a weak grin as I walked up to pay. I had five crisp twenties in my wallet, each stolen, but I didn’t like to think of it that way. I’d spent the majority of my life working for the scientists without any kind of compensation. Same went for my parents, and everyone else back at the compound. Taking what was my due seemed like a much better way to phrase it.

The woman was efficient. Already most everything had been settled into white plastic bags, ready for me to collect. She didn’t do much more than glance at me as I waited.

I hoped the sweat gathering in my pits, along my lower back, didn’t show through.

Finally, she finished and turned the little screen with the total toward me without saying anything. I counted out the twenties on the little counter and let her collect them. Her hands stayed a safe distance from mine.

My total didn’t register until she counted it out for me, bills along the counter, which I snatched up and replaced in my wallet.

But the change. The total had included three cents, which I didn’t have, and meant I had $0.97 cents to contend with. And no way was she going to scatter that across her counter.

“You can just keep it.” I stepped away from her proffered handful of coins.

She shook her head. “It’s almost a dollar, you should just take it.” Finally a smile touched her face. For a second I looked at her and realized that she had been beautiful in her youth.

I tried to wave her off once more, but she leaned forward, grabbed my sleeve, and plunked my change into my palm. “You look like you could use it.”

Her skin was cool, papery in a way. Loose. And I could feel every one of her fingertips where they touched mine. My mind seized on hers.

He needs it. Obviously. Look at that sweater. Seen better days. Money could be stolen. But don’t think like that. Just let go of his hand.

Her internal voice was breathy. Young. As if her mind hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that her body no longer fit with her thoughts.

I gasped and my mouth dropped open. Every single time it happened, it still seemed odd. Wrong. No human was meant to hear those personal, private, things in another’s mind.

Look at him! So startled. Funny that an old woman would do that. His expression. Like I’m harming him. Let him go!

I jerked my hand, spilling pennies and dimes and quarters. I didn’t even look at where they fell. All I could see was the look on her face. The way her voice trailed through my thoughts like the tail of a comet.

Within moments I had my bags gathered and almost ran toward the door. I could feel the eyes of the woman on my back the whole way.

Outside, the dark cool of the parking lot remained too bright to hide in. I went back to the car and dropped the bags in the trunk before I slid into the driver’s seat. My instincts were to race from the lot as fast as I could, tires squealing. But that would only draw more attention.

What would the woman do? Call the cops? Could she have sensed anything about me? I didn’t think people could tell when I read their electrical impulses that made up their thoughts. But maybe they somehow knew, somehow sensed it.

Or she thought I was disturbed and needed to be taken care of.

It took a few deep breaths to calm the ragged feeling of her thoughts meeting mine. I could still feel the foreign nature of them, like I’d eaten something strange and the taste lingered on my tongue.

Somehow, I managed to keep my cool and back out of my parking spot. To ignore the giant truck with the hateful sticker and to make my way toward the exit. That meant crossing in front of the doors to the store. I did not want to look over. But I couldn’t not do it. I had to see what went on inside.

The woman stood with her face in the window, her nose almost pressed to the glass. She had a phone to her ear and I watched her jot down something as I went by. My license plate number.

I waited to rant until I got onto the road, zooming away from the store, from the woman, from her voice in my thoughts. Then I screamed obscenities until my voice went raw.

Heat and pressure built behind my eyes. I could feel it there and felt even worse. I hadn’t cried since I was a kid and they took me away from my mom when I aged out of the nursery.

And now what? I had to tell the others. Steal another car. Make sure I wasn’t tracked back to our camp. That wouldn’t be easy. Not alone.

But one thing was certain. I couldn’t be caught. I’d rather drive my car off a bridge. And if I had to, if I didn’t have any other choice, I’d use what I could do. Because even if touching someone was like willingly touching vomit, it made it impossible for anyone to deceive me.

***

Meradeth's never been a big fan of talking about herself, but if you really want to know, here are some random tidbits about her:

>She's a Northern California girl and now braves the cold winters in Montana.

>When she's not writing, she's sequencing dead people's DNA. For fun!

>She’s also an anthropology professor and loves getting people interested in studying humans.

>If she could have a super-power, it would totally be flying. Which is a little strange, because she's terrified of heights.


Find Meradeth Houston online at:www.MeradethHouston.com, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, Amazon, Goodreads, and of course her blog!

You Cannot Be Serious by Kai Strand

The fight against the “little lady” gets exhausting. Time to erase stereotypes.

***

Photo credit

“Don’t worry, dude. We’ll get you taken care of and back on the road fast.”

The mechanic finishes typing my personal info into the computer and hands my driver’s license back. “These imports are all the same. We replace half a dozen fuel pump relays a week, easy.”

“Great.” I force a smile. It isn’t the guy’s fault that the relay blew out and I’m without a car. “And you’ll have it done today?”

“Sure thing. By 4:00 PM, easy.”

“Appreciate it, thanks.” I tuck the receipt, which details what the mechanic plans to do and the estimated cost, into my pocket and then pull out my phone to text my buddy. I hope he can pick me up. I’m already late for work. The thought of the pile of torts on my desk and the anxious co-workers who will undoubtedly trail me—questions streaming—as soon as I set foot through the door, makes me bite my tongue to keep from groaning out loud.

Another mechanic pushes through the door behind the desk. “Did you see that pretty little piece I left with last night?”

I glance at the guy. He’s probably around my age, mid-twenties. Even though it’s only 7:30 in the morning, his shirt is already stained and his hair looks like he hasn’t combed it, let alone washed it. His sneer makes me turn toward the window again, but of course I can still hear him.

“Man, she was hot. And with hooters like that, I just knew I was in for a good time.”

I almost turn around to ask how one has anything to do with the other, but I don’t want to get into the middle of the conversation. I consider stepping outside, but the temperature hasn’t even hit double digits, so I have to put up with these skeevy jerks if I want to keep my ears.

“Did you get some?” My mechanic asks.

I close my eyes hoping a lack of sight equates to muffled hearing.

“Well, practically,” the slime ball answers. “Enough to try again anyway.”

My mechanic’s response is garbled as they walk into the shop together.

Crisp air blasts across my cheeks and I open my eyes to find a girl – woman? What do you call a female in her early twenties? – push through the front door.

My phone buzzes. Sure. Give me about a half hour. I want to growl at the amount of time. Dale could easily be here in fifteen minutes. But I’m at his mercy. I’m sure I woke him up, so he probably growled at me already.

I type my thanks and hit reply just as my mechanic comes back into the office to greet the girl.

“What can I do for you little lady?”

I peek over my shoulder with an eyebrow raised. The term “little lady” makes him sound about sixty years old instead of thirty or so. I shake my head and stare out the front window. Half an hour! While the “little lady” talks behind me, I text Rebel, at work, to let her know when to expect me.

“Oh right.” My mechanic snickers. “You’re the—how did you put it—rattle, thunk, rattle, thunk noise.”

I turn and lower myself onto the leather couch, squinting at the mechanic and his condescending attitude, but he’s too busy leering at the female in front of him to notice. I cock my head to the side. The change in his behavior from me to this young woman is fascinating, if repulsive. He looks almost primitive. Like he might sniff her hair.

She clears her throat. “Well, yes, that’s how it sounds and it hisses before it starts doing that.”

“I’m pretty certain that what you’ve got is a failing water pump.”

I shake my head automatically, because that isn’t what it sounds like at all, though admittedly I’m not really much of a car guy. The guy’s eyes flicker in my direction, but re-focus on the woman he plans to drag into his cave.

“If we have to replace the water pump, it’s suggested by the manufacturer that we do the timing belt at the same time. We won’t have those parts in until tomorrow, though. We have a courtesy shuttle service. Can I take you somewhere?”

They don’t have a shuttle service. I’m about to speak up, when she says, “No. I have a ride.”

“Let me get the job req filled in then. Name?”

“Belle Sorenson.”

“Well, isn’t that appropriate? Belle means pretty, doesn’t it?” The mechanic is mouth breathing while he smiles and leers and types. I’m astounded by his ability to multi-task. “Sure fits a pretty little slip of a thing like you.”

I smirk when Belle doesn’t bother to reply.

“When do you think it’ll be ready tomorrow?” she asks.

“Well, I don’t know for sure. We won’t know until we get in there and see what’s really going on. I’ll call you and let you know.”

I wrack my brain trying to remember if there is some sort of best-practices law that says he has to give her an estimate. The situation with her car isn’t much different than mine. They should know exactly how long it takes to replace a water pump—if that’s what is really wrong in the first place. Something tells me he knows as well as I do that isn’t the problem, but he’s leaving his scamming options wide open.

I scan Belle from head to toe. Even standing straight as an arrow, she probably only tops off at 5’2”. She’s thin and her thick wool coat and the scarf coiled around her neck makes her look fragile. Because she has her back to me, I can’t see her expression, but I can hear the frustration in her voice.

The mechanic hands her the license and the receipt at the same time.

“If I have it ready at 1:00 PM, would you like to take me to lunch?” He winks at her. “I’ll throw in a free oil change.”

I pop up from the couch. “Unbelievable. You cannot be serious.”

When the mechanic glares at me I realize I just signed my car’s death warrant. “Did I ask you?”

“Did you ask me to lunch? No. Did you offer me a free oil change? No. Did you treat me like a bubble headed blond? No.” Now the girl is scowling at me. “But what I don’t get is why you think it’s okay to do all of those things to her? Is it just because she’s a woman?”

Anger seeps across the guy’s face. His entire body starts to shake. “I’m certain this is none of your business, fancy boy. You and your skinny jeans can just leave with your boyfriend when he shows up and keep your nose out of my business.”

I stare at the guy while I contain my anger. There is so much I want to say about his assumptions and his attitude, but I don’t want to put the girl at further risk by pissing him off more. Finally, I drop my gaze and find her staring at me with a terrified expression on her face. I use my soothing mediator’s voice. The one that coaxes shell-shocked victims into opening up. “Is your car drivable?”

She shrugs and nods.

“Is it the hatchback out there?”

She nods again.

I pick up her keys from the counter and hand them to her. “I suggest you take your car to Happy Trails on 9^th. These guys specialize in imports, but Happy Trails is great with American made cars. If anyone treats you like this over there, go somewhere else. Promise me you’ll never let someone treat you like this again.”

Her expression is ironic. “You think I let it happen? You think I have control over this?”

“Okay, no I don’t. But promise me you’ll start fighting back. Jerks like this will never learn different if women don’t speak up.” My gaze takes in her conservative hairdo, professional, expensive clothing. “You’re educated. You’ve already worked for so much, don’t let these jerks demean you just because you’re a woman.”

Her shoulders slump. “You’re right. I used to speak up, but it’s been a lifelong fight and I think I got tired somewhere down the road.” She squares her shoulders again. “But no battle was ever won by giving up.”

Dale pulls up in front of the shop and I’ve never been happier to see him. I smile at her, slip a business card from my wallet and turn toward the pissed off mechanic. Sliding the card onto the counter, I say, “If anything is wrong with my car when I pick it up, or anytime in the next six months, I’ll own this place.”

He looks down at my business card and snarls at the long list of attorney’s-at-law that make up the firm’s name.

I turn toward the door and say to Belle, “Can I walk you out?”

With a tentative smile she nods and walks through the door I hold open for her.

“9^th street, huh?”

“9^th and Herald.”

She heads to her car, but then stops and turns toward me again. “Why did you do that?”

I shove my hands in my coat pockets and stare back into the office. I’m not really sure why I stood up for her. When I look back, her nose is already bright red from the cold. “I guess I realized that jerks like that will never learn different if men don’t speak up, also. If I stayed silent and watched it happen, it would have made me just as guilty as those douche bags.”

She laughs, probably at my choice of words. Then asks hesitantly, a touch of shyness that makes her look younger. “Can I get one of those business cards?”

I realize I can’t pull one out fast enough. Like I’m afraid she’ll change her mind and reject it after all.

She studies it before giving me a parting smile. “Thanks, Declan.”

“Anytime, Belle.”

I slide into the passenger seat and I know I’m smiling like a schoolboy.

“Did you seriously score a date at the mechanics?” Dale says by way of a greeting.

“I don’t know. I’ll leave that up to her.” I slip down in my seat and lean my head back. “But I hope so.”

“I don’t know Dec. I think she looks too smart for you.”

I smile contentedly. This is exactly how a conversation between two guys about a girl should go. “She probably is. Let’s hope I fooled her.”

 ***

Author’s Note:

I had a different story planned for this month, but I saw a post on Facebook by Maggie Stiefvater about how she’s always treated like the little lady, regardless of her extensive car knowledge and overall success and capabilities. I’ve also had a lifelong fight against condescension because of my lack of height and sunny disposition. People are often surprised to learn I’m intelligent and strong. This isn’t a situation that women can or should fight alone. Men need to get involved. Examine their own thinking. Stand up when they witness ill treatment or unearned disrespect. Parents need to raise their children (boys and girls) without prejudice and preconceived notions. Women need to act with respect if they are asking for it. For more on gender equality, visit He for She.

About the author:

Kai Strand writes fiction for kids and teens. Her debut novel, The Weaver, was an EPIC eBook Awards finalist. As a mother of four young adults her characters are well researched and new stories are inspired daily. Kai is a compulsive walker, addicted to pizza, and a Mozart fangirl. Visit her website for more information about her work and to find all her virtual haunts; www.kaistrand.com.